


never have i ever (XXX version)

by peradi



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blowjobs, Bottom Dean, Coming Untouched, Dean is insecure, Drunk Sex, Facials, Humor, M/M, No Incest, Oral Sex, Porn with Feelings, Size Kink, Threesome, but it's all a little dodgy, crackfic, handjobs, if you are squicked out by the idea of shagging someone in front of a family member then uh, imagine this whole fic is narrated by brian blessed, sam has a giant dick, very drunk sex, winchesters are competitive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-15
Updated: 2015-10-15
Packaged: 2018-04-26 06:56:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4994605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peradi/pseuds/peradi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean's wanking Cas off with great enthusiasm --</p><p>"Uh, Dean? I appreciate the sentiment but that is my trench-coat."</p><p>Ah. Ah yes. Dean's trying to bring the sleeve of the coat to orgasm. "I just thought that you had a really strange foreskin," he admits.</p><p>--</p><p>The boys get blackout drunk and fuck. That's it. That's the plot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	never have i ever (XXX version)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Valvopus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valvopus/gifts).



> read 'never have i ever'. then read this. joyful, messy, kinky sex to brighten up your day.

It all starts when Dean’s giving Cas a handjob -- really getting into it -- jerking the meat, slapping the sausage, making the one-eyed trouser snake cry like his Grandmammy’s just got her head blown off. Yeah, Cas has got to like that: its one of the best bits of being human.

“I do not understand,” says Cas, and Dean can only just think the fuck because what part of the whole hand-on-dick situation does Cas not get. He gives Cas’s strange, loose genitals a good twist-squeeze. And yeah, Cas has a strange dick. Dean doesn’t like to point these things out because he’s a gent but Cas has got a lot of random flappy skin down there. Must be an angel thing.

“Dean --” okay Sam is here why is Sam here that is just so gross and so wrong and so strange but worse than that, worse than the presence of his baby brother during his attempt at angel-sex is the fact that Sam is laughing. Laughing. At him. And now just a little snigger, like full-on guffaws that seem to start at the pit of his stomach and rattle up to the base of his throat and explode in a series of sharp, joyful barks.

“Is this normal?” says Castiel. He’s talking to Sam. “Does Dean need to ritualistically cleanse my clothing before the mating commences?” and that’s when Dean realises that he’s not been wanking Cas off, he’s been trying to bring Cas’s trenchcoat sleeve to orgasm. He makes a noise like a strangled, scalded cat and drops the fabric. It was draped over an empty bottle. Cas isn’t even wearing it.

Sam keels over and fucking _cries_.

\--

To be fair, that is not when it all starts.

This is when it all starts:

“I do not understand why large genitalia is preferable. The average female vagina is five to six inches deep; anything longer than this is superfluous and likely to cause discomfort.”

Cas has this earnest, innocent look on his face -- like a schoolboy waiting to be pumped up with information and if that’s not an image to make Dean highly uncomfortable then he doesn’t know what is.

“S’not the point,” he says. “ Big --”

“--isn’t always better,” Sam cuts in. He looks...nervous? Yes. He’s nervous. A sudden inspiration strikes Dean.

“Yours is smaller, ain’t it Sammy-boy?”

“Wha -- “ Sam’s eyes widen, his mouth goes slack: the universal human expression for _what in the name of fuck_. Dean’s grinning like a shark confronted with a wounded seal. Oh hell yes.

“No. No it isn’t.” There’s a quaver, a shudder, a new and nervy tone to Sam’s voice and Dean knows it well. He plunges in for the kill.

“I knew you weren’t big everywhere.”

“Oh come on!”

\--

Castiel says, “I do not see why this is not considered socially acceptable.” He’s got a ruler in one hand, a bottle of some fruity girly shit in the other and a puzzled look in those depthless blue eyes.

(wait? depthless? shit, Dean’s probably high as well as drunk -- it’s all that absinthe that’s doing him in)

“Because Dean is my brother --”

“Balthazar is my brother, and when we gained vessels he insisted that it was necessary to examine each other for signs of wear and tear.”

The sound Dean makes is not human.

“Where did the bad angel touch you?” he wails.

Sam blinks. His face twitches. The fear, inexplicably, is gone from his eyes. Dean isn’t sure what to think of this -- then it strikes him: Sam thinks that he, Dean, is going to pussy out. His little bro thinks that he’s going to escape humiliation.

Uh-huh. That ain’t gonna happen. Dean unveils his most beautiful shit-eating grin, snatches the ruler from Cas and brandishes it like a sword.

“Pants off!”

\--

“Why d’you have two?”

“Dean, lay off the green shit, okay?”

\--

When he’s able to force his eyes to focus --

Well. Shit.

\--

First of all, he insists that the ruler is broken.

Then he claims its too cold.

Sam jams the ruler under his arm to warm it and Dean refuses that one on general principle -- _not letting your pit-stank touch my dick Sammy_ \-- and a third one is procured and. Shit. Okay, tape measure -- width matters more.

“Admit it,” says Sam. He looks so gleeful; Dean wants to pull his teeth out. “I’m --”

“It’s not ready!” Dean snaps. Sam blinks. The he realises what Dean is doing.

“What the shit Dean?”

Not So Little Dean is not co-operating. It hurts. It hurts even more when Dean squeezes a bit too hard.

“I’m a grower.”

“Dude, your dick is red. Stop touching it. You’re making this wierd -- i don’t want to see you jack off.”

"There is nothing wrong with -- I am  _not_ jacking off," says Dean, while jacking off. Cas has said nothing throughout the whole debacle: only watching with the calm, quizzical eyes of an owl. 

Then he reaches over and touches Dean's cock. 

Dean cums all over Castiel's hand. 

\--

"It was the  _tension,"_ Dean insists.

Cas looks at his hand like he never seen cum before. Hell, maybe he hasn't. 

And then. And then. The pink point of Cas's tongue peeks out. 

He  _licks_ the back of his hand. 

The whole world narrows and sharpens and heats to an unbearable degree. Dean would have spunked his pants then and there -- had it not been for the fact that he had literally just cum. Over Cas. 

Castiel wrinkles his face up, kind of wriggling his lips around like he's trying to work out whether or not he likes the taste. 

Sam makes a thin, strangled sound. 

He grabs a cushion from the sofa and shoves it over his dick. 

Not quite quickly enough. 

"Sam, you kinky bitch,"

Sam makes that strangled sound again. Cas wipes the rest of the cum onto his jacket. 

"That was interesting. Sam. are you hurt?"

Sam's still got the cushion over his dick. The only problem is that its a fucking tiny cushion -- a decorative one, something kind of frilly, suggesting that the Men of Letters had a few girls over every now and then -- and it does not cover the entire groin. In fact, Sam's efforts to clamp the cushion down further only leads to his erection being forced to the side like some strange sproingy dick-snake. 

Dean's reminded once more that his baby brother has a dick bigger than most porn stars. 

The ruler said nine and a half inches, but the ruler is a fucking filthy liar. 

So Sam's got the world's tiniest cushion covering his penis, leaving his ballsack exposed. Cas has streaks of spunk on his trenchcoat and Dean's still got his dick out. 

There's a moment of awkward silence. Then Dean, slowly and carefully, puts his flaccid cock away. 

"Uh," he says. 

Then Cas gets his cock out. 

"What the  _shit_ Cas?" 

"What is wrong with it?" Cas says in this lost, unsure voice that makes Dean --

Oh fuck it, Dean's too drunk to deny this. He's not gay. He's a little gay. 

"It hurts," says Cas, a little annoyed, a little nervous; the foibles of his human body are endless and disconcerting. He nudges his dick. Its engorged, reddened and veiny and...bigger than Dean's. Fuck's sake. 

\--

That's why Dean starts the handjob. 

After he realises that he's trying to wrangle an orgasm from an inanimate object he looks to Sam. 

Sam misconstrues the look. 

Dean means:  _dude I'm trying to get laid here can you not watch like a massive creeper?_

Sam, apparently, thinks he means:  _brother of mine please give me a helping hand._

Because Sam shoves Dean aside, like he's some rank amateur who can't be trusted with the vital task of introducing Cas to the world of sex, and goes to fucking town. 

He tugs Cas's boxers down in one hard yank and buries his face in Cas's groin with a low, pleased rumble. He licks and sucks at Cas's hips and stomach, nipping with sharp white teeth, and Cas  _mewls_. 

Then he sucks Cas's cock down and just  _keeps going_. Literally. Sam's definitely a bitch: no gag reflex at all. He doesn't stop until Cas's cock is completely encased in his throat. Castiel is uttering little cut-off sounds, his hips spasming up -- trying to thrust but Sam's holding him down, holding him in place while he slowly works his way back up Cas's shaft, licking and sucking, his lips red and wet with drool. It's messy and gross and Dean can't look away. Sam pops one hand around the base of Castiel's cock and twists, soft and sure, getting quicker and tighter, his lips forming a seal over Castiel's head -- and then he takes him down again and --

Dean realises finally, finally, that this is fucking too strange for words. He tears his eyes away.

There's still something in the bottle on the table. Some Starbucks shite. Sweet and thick and creamy and white --

(creamy and white?)

His drunken, disorganised mind gives him a nudge: he's never going to get do to this again. 

And then, more importantly -- _Sam is winning_.

He looks back. Sam's hair is knotted in Castiel's hands and Cas is thrusting into Sam's mouth like he's been doing it all his life and that's not right, not at all. Because Sam is not the one who should be doing this. Dean is the elder. If anyone's going to have drunken, ridiculous sex with Cas it's Dean. 

Dean grabs Cas and kisses him. He shoves his tongue into Castiel's mouth and Cas responds so eagerly that Dean almost topples onto him. Which would have been unfortunate, because Sam's still sucking Castiel's dick like there's no tomorrow and at worst a fall means that Sam panics, clicks his teeth together and severs Castiel's cock --

That thought cools Dean's ardour, just a little. He's faced with an issue he never thought he'd encounter: he's got Sam still sucking down Cas's dick, but he wants to straddle Cas, get some friction going, fucking devour him -- teeth and tongue and the wet shove of a filthy sex-starved kiss -- and he can't really do that while Sam's got his head in the way. 

\--and Sam is jacking himself off. 

What is Dean's life. Really. 

So this is the scene: Cas, dazed and moaning, propped up against the sofa; Sam hunched over his lap like a dog with a bone; Dean leaning against Cas, hands still grasping his shirt. 

Dean has a brainwave.

(He ignores the fact that Sam seems to  _really_ like giving head.) 

"On the couch," says he, "and take your shirt off!"

Sam releases Castiel's dick with a wet, obscene pop. He pulls his tshirt off. 

"Not you, asshole! Cas!"

Cas smiles, crooked and blissful, and holds his arms up -- Sam strips him out of his shirt, but not before pulling a long greedy kiss from his mouth. 

A hot, bitter pang of jealousy strikes Dean just between the ribs. 

He gives Sam a not-so gentle shove and interposes himself in-between his dickbag brother and the angel. "Dean," protests Cas --

Dean kisses him. 

Tries to. 

He misses. 

He gets a mouthful of stubbly cheek instead. Drools on it. Decides that the situation is salvageable and turns an ungainly lick into a series of little bites that trail to Cas's ear. He nibbles the angel's earlobes and is delighted by the squeaks that this draws forth. 

Right, now to business. 

He shoves Cas onto the sofa. Tries to. He gets pulled down too, but he's not really objecting since this leads to a ferocious makeout session that is less about snogging, more about a struggle for victory -- teeth are used liberally, and Dean fills his lips start to swell. 

Then he remembers what he's meant to be doing. Cas has his lower lip clasped firmly; he's chewing a little, running his tongue back and forth like he can't get enough of how Dean tastes. 

Dean sinks to his knees. He's given precisely one blowjob, and that was to the King of Hell, who bitched the entire way through and ended up shoving him away, finishing the job himself and then cumming -- without even a by-your-leave -- all over Dean's face. It hadn't been terribly fun. 

He's had plenty, so he sort of knows what he likes. And what's good for him is probably good for Cas. 

To give himself time to think, he splays his hands up Cas's chest -- Castiel has smooth, yielding skin with the little hitch of scar-tissue here and there. 

"You're beautiful," Dean says. 

He leans forwards and kisses Cas again, long and slow and deliberate, lapping his way into the angel's mouth -- teasing flashes of teeth and soft, gentle patterns traced with the points of his fingers, over the scars and muscle, over the singular cartography that is  _Castiel_. It's a prayer. It's reverence. It's nothing like anything Dean's ever known and he wants it to last forever. 

They break apart. Cas has eyes the colour of all the mornings in all the worlds, now until the end of time. 

"I'm going to suck your soul out through your dick," Dean promises in a low, passionate voice. 

Castiel nods earnestly and leans back. 

Dean touches the tip of his tongue to Castiel's head, a feather-touch of pressure, the start of something great --

Castiel gasps, groans, and cums all over Dean's face. 

Some gets in his eye. The pain is immediate and sparking. "Warn me next time, douchebag!" Dean snaps, jumping to his feet. He blinks rapidly a few times: his vision's all blurred.

Fortunately, the strange hazy shapes coalesce soon enough. 

Unfornately, the strange hazy shapes reveal themselves to be Sam finishing himself off and giving Castiel a facial. He's got one hand knotted in the angel's hair, the other angling his dick and Cas opens his mouth, obliging as any chick in porn. 

Sam cums with a reverberating groan. "Oh God,  _Cas_."

"I am not God," Castiel says. He's got Sam's spunk dripping down his cheeks. Sam reaches out, mops Cas's face clean as best he can --

\-- and then he offers his fingers to Castiel and the fucking bitch sucks on them, making these odd sounds of appreciation that Dean really doesn't want to hear. He's failed at sex. He has fucking failed at sex. How. Why. He knows, dimly, that the fact that he just watched his brother get his rocks off should disquiet him more than it does but hey. He's a Winchester. They're weird fucks. 

He's fucking  _lost at sex_.

When Cas has licked up the last of Sam's cum, Sam announces he's going to the bathroom. 

He gets about five steps before passing out, bare-ass naked on the floor. 

Dean's a good big brother. He has set aside sharpies for such an eventuality. 

He pops the lid off one and offers it to Cas. "It's tradition," Dean pushes, when the angel hesitates. 

It doesn't take long to get into the swing of things. Castiel is a dab hand at penises, it turns out, and so Dean watches fondly as Sam's back becomes home to a plethora of dicks: veiny and stubby ones; big black ones and tiny white ones; all with ballsacks drooping like old ladies tits. Dean writes 'INSERT HERE' on Sam's ass. Cas draws a big loop moustache and a monocle. 

This ritual complete, Dean starts to sink into exhaustion. He and Cas curl up on the sofa: Cas tucked under his arm like a chick with her prom date. 

"I liked that," says Cas. 

Dean kisses his cheek. "Sam's better in bed than me," he whines. 

"Well," says Cas. "Yes. But it's you I'm in love with."

Dean's eyes pop open wide. Cas makes this soft, contented sound and falls asleep. After a while, Dean does too -- aided by the bottle of vodka he discovered under the cushions and downed, in an attempt to wash the words Castiel spoke away. 

(his brother is  _not_ better in bed than him fuck damn it.)


End file.
